


Head Hunting

by tygermine



Series: Dramione Drabbles [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Getting Together, Journalist Draco Malfoy, Journalist Hermione Granger, Office, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: Hermione cannot seem to keep an assistant.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Dramione Drabbles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641019
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	Head Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd with wine and Grammarly  
> Heavily influenced by the 80s sitcom Murphy Brown.

“Sometimes I think the Sorting Hat got it all wrong.”

Hermione sat at her desk shuffling resumes around, trying to find someone who could survive being her assistant.

In the year that she had become the senior Ministry correspondent to the Daily Prophet, she’d burned through sixteen assistants. Most of them leaving in tears.

Draco Malfoy had the office across from her and he often took a seat at her desk, threw up his legs to dislodge some very important looking papers to rest his feet on the corner, crossed at the ankles.

He worked as the senior sports correspondent. No one was really sure how it happened and Malfoy tended to shrug it off by muttering about bills and Quidditch groupies.

“You’re a slave driver,” he said lounging in his seat and idly picking up an abandoned resume. “Look here, she looks perfectly capable of being your assistant. Good NEWTS, knows how to use that muggle contraption you’re so fond of.” He gestured at the typewriter on a nearby table, vying for space amongst the towers of files.

“The typewriter is super efficient at getting the stories written. Far faster than writing and easier to read.” Hermione leaned over the desk slightly to see whom he was referring to. “No, she wouldn’t do.”

“Why? Because she was a Slytherin while at Hogwarts?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No. A Slytherin assistant might be able to keep up. Problem was when I was interviewing her, she kept looking over her shoulder at your office.”

“Really?” Malfoy sat up slightly. “Maybe I should get her Floo details.”

Hermione snatched the resume from his hand before he could check. “No, I will not have you dating one of my assistants.”

“You’re such a spoilsport.” He pretended to pout, crossing his arms. “It’s not my fault I have that bad boy allure that gets the witches all hot and bothered.”

“The only thing that should be getting my assistants hot and bothered are the deadlines I give them.”

“What about this fellow?” Malfoy had picked up another resume from her desk. “Oh look, he’s a Ravenclaw. Should be good for research with their scholastic ways.”

“He tried to pick up the receptionist when he arrived. I will not have some lothario lurking outside my office making the witches here feel unsafe in their work environment.”

“Granger, has it ever occurred to you that people need to use their workplace as a place to find a partner?”

“This is the Daily Prophet, not some speed dating seminar. We work here, we date outside,” she waved her hand as if to indicate the wider world out there.

“Oh please, when was the last time you actually went for a date out there,” he mocked her tone and hand gesture. “You should say yes to Gibbs up in Obituaries. I hear he’s been trying to ask you out for ages.”

“Gibbs is a troll. In the muggle world, there are strict rules about dating in the workplace.”

“There’s your first mistake. We’re not in the muggle world, thank Merlin. We’re here, in Diagon Alley and this is where people find spouses. Or are you preparing to live out your days as a workaholic reporter until you are forced to retire and then collect all the stray cats in the greater Lake District?”

“Malfoy, this conversation has gone totally off-topic. I need an assistant, not a date.”

“More like you need assistance to get a date.”

“Oh please. I could date if I wanted to. Which I don’t. So drop it and go write another Quidditch article or something.”

Malfoy dropped his feet and turned in his chair to face her, leaning his elbows on his knees. “No, watching you moan about the quality of candidates is far more fun.”

Hermione simply raised an eyebrow at his statement but chose to ignore him in favour of going through the piles on her desk.

He suddenly got up and went into his office, returning a few seconds later with a bottle of Odgen’s, which he placed on her desk along with two tumblers.

“It’s barely two o’clock,” she hissed.

“I’m glad your protest is because of the time and not the fact that I have alcohol in my office. And, it’s after four, so stop looking at me like that. I have an idea.” He poured a finger into each glass and held it to her. “Let’s take a shot for every resume you reject, but the reason has to be valid.”

Hermione hesitated for a long time, her eyes looking past him to see if anyone was walking past her office. The corridor was dead quiet, most reporters were out or at home by this time.

“Urgh. Fine.” She took the glass from him.

“I’ll choose the resume,” he said, sitting down.

“Of course you will.” She pushed them towards him. “Go on, have at it.”

He lifted the first one with a flourish. “Here we have Peggy Weaver.”

Hermione knocked back her shot. “I can’t have an assistant named Peggy. It sounds unprofessional.”

Malfoy simpled blinked at her in astonishment before knocking back his own drink and throwing the resume over his shoulder. He quickly refilled their glasses.

“Next one. This is Timothy Hassleham.”

Hermione knocked back her shot. “Sounds like he should be working in a butchery.”

“He also didn’t do too well on his NEWTS.” Malfoy knocked back his drink.

And so it went until the bottle was nearly empty and there were two resumes left.

“Right Granger, here we go,” he slurred slightly. “Ursula Fortshack, great NEWTS, loves to garden and bake.”

“She’ll keep bringing in baked goods and turn her desk into the breakroom. She’s husband-hunting. Nope.” Hermione knocked back her drink and grabbed the resume out of his hand and scrunched it up before flinging it across the room.

“Fine. Then we have this person. They graduated a little late, but excellent marks on their NEWTS, fluent in three languages apart from English, already has journalistic experience and is very familiar with the way you work.”

Hermione looked up and blinked owlishly at him. “I don’t remember that resume.”

“It’s a new addition,” he shrugged. “This person seems overqualified to be your assistant. I may just take them for my own.”

“You don’t need an assistant,” she argued and leaned across her desk to take the resume from him. He leaned back, keeping his arm extended out of her way. Hermione, obviously bolstered by the drink, climbed onto her desk and leaned further over until her chest was pressed against his. Her hand reached as far as his forearm and as she curled her fingers, they caressed the sensitive skin there, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. He shivered and his breath tickled her cheek.

She turned her head to tell him off. His lips met hers instead in a slip-slide of lips against each other. The resume slipped from his fingers to the floor and he lowered his arm to grab the nape of her neck to hold her in place so he could deepen the kiss. His other arm reached around her back and he pulled her the rest of the way across her desk, ignoring the piles of parchment and other detritus sliding to the floor to pull her into his lap.

Her hands grabbed at his shirt, fingers digging into the gap between his collar and his neck, caressing the sensitive skin there until he shuddered against her. Her skirt was hitched up to the curve of her bum and he ran his fingers along the line of her panties, feeling the goosebumps rise with every pass. 

They kissed with an abandon that was fueled by the fact that if they stopped, the awkwardness would set in and so to keep it as far in the future as possible, she kept her lips against his, her tongue gently pushing at his until they were both dizzy.

Finally, with a hand cupping her buttcheek and the other tangled in the curls at the nape of her neck, he pulled himself from the kiss.

“I’m not going to shag you in your office, Granger.”

She blushed and leaned into to kiss his neck to avoid looking him in the eye. He cleared his throat and leaned back. “Can we Floo back to yours?”

He felt her nod against his neck, her nose and lips grazing the heated skin.

With a herculean effort he stood, slowly letting her feet touch the ground and took her hand to lead her to the Floo just down the corridor from her office. Their hurried steps turned into a run and her girlish gasp of laughter echoed through him.

She went through first and he was on her heels, catching her in a kiss as he stepped into her living room.

Hermione never did keep an assistant for the rest of the time she was at the Daily Prophet, but it didn’t matter as long as the man across the corridor kept his door open and sent her dirty little office memos.


End file.
